


not eat with you, i’d rather starve

by nightstarry



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Cottagecore?, F/F, Fluff, LETS GO LESBIANS, Modern AU, Romance, Sapphic, gwen is a plant lover, inspired by bly manor ofc, morgana and arthur are the iconic siblings we deserve, morgana is soft for gwen, plant shop au, plant shoppe au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:08:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27448393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightstarry/pseuds/nightstarry
Summary: Morgana has killed every plant she’s every owned, Gwen has constellations in her freckles and green embedded in her thumb. And god, those eyes that catch Morgana’s beating heart in their shimmering depths entice her to try a hand at gardening once more.(plant shoppe au)
Relationships: Gwen & Merlin (Merlin), Gwen/Morgana (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Morgana & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1

Objectively speaking, Morgana was horrendous at maintaining plantlife. Every plant she had ever owned died within the quick span of around two weeks. This history of an unlucky pattern of plant proprietorship dated back to the first plant Morgana ever had; a fragile, awkward seventh birthday gift from her older brother Arthur. It had been merely a tiny succulent, nestled in a rusty little pot, its green-purple tinged leaves peeking over the rim, rounding then pointing. 

Morgana killed it almost instantly. Seeing his tender present ruined had saddened Arthur — though he attempted to mask it — which sent Morgana into a frenzy of guilt and desperation to mend the youthful hurt caused by the murder of a gift. With Arthur’s weekly allowance she picked out a new plant and attempted to nurture and raise it more carefully than the first. 

Arthur’s help kept it alive a week longer than the succulent, but in the end it died under Morgana’s care. And that was the beginning of a vicious cycle. 

Throughout her early childhood and teenage years, Morgana persisted in purchasing and planting various cuts and clumps of flora — sparse clusters of daffodils and packets of tomato seeds -- in attempts to somehow shove her thumb into a bowl of dye and have it return green. 

After this refused to succeed time and time again, Morgana was persuaded by the blackened leaves and wilting stems to simply cease trying. She hadn’t any idea as to why every plant she touched promptly withered and perished, but she was tired of wondering and being disappointed every time her ventures malfunctioned and fell through. 

But, approximately six years after the demise of Morgana’s hopes of keeping a plant alive, she found herself standing helplessly surrounded by the very things that were so repulsed by her, solely due to an inexplicable magnetic pull she felt toward the tiny plant shoppe on the corner of Hazelnut Boulevard. The air smelled overwhelmingly of foreign perfumes and syrupy pollen that tickled the inside of Morgana’s nostrils, and it draped thickly around her body, a bead of sweat forming at the nape of her neck. 

“Erm, hello?” Morgana felt quite stranded amidst the mass of flowers and leaves curling around her calves, sticky and fuzzy and flexible. The shoppe was indeed not very organized, however cozy and charming it appeared. 

“Can I help you?” Rang out the voice of an angel. Fuck, no, it was just the faraway call of a stray employee. There was a rustling from behind Morgana, and she swung around to see nothing but a strangely bent tree reaching its gnarled limbs towards her. Morgana wrenched a chunk of long black hair from where it snagged on the twisted end of one of the branches. 

“Yes, please,” Morgana called in return, though she hadn’t any idea what she needed help with— seeing as she had entered the shoppe with no purpose whatsoever, glancing around to see if she could ascertain the whereabouts of this bodiless voice. 

“Looking for anything in particular?” The voice, inquired, and the figure it belonged to emerged from the shadow of a bush clipped messily into the shape of a deer. 

Morgana’s throat constricted and for a split second she was unable to breath. It was a mousy, fairy-like slip of a woman; a grey and red striped shirt unbuttoned and hanging loosely overtop a pair of washed out overalls and scuffed Doc Martens. Her hair was a wild halo of frizzy ringlets akin to the rich color of the soil Morgana vaguely remembered smeared across her palms back when she would stuff roots and seeds into the Earth in desperate ventures to grow something, anything. Momentarily, she wondered if she were to run her hands right then through those glorious humidity stricken curls, would they be as soft to the touch as those velvety handfuls of dirt? Thankfully, Morgana was quite accustomed to retaining a cool demeanor around beautiful women she knew it was impossible for her to obtain. Her throat returned to normal before the next second ticked into place. “Not exactly. I came here on a whim, actually.”

The woman nodded her head, and Morgana was hit with a sudden desire to hear her speak again in that honeyed voice, so she barrelled on in hopes that she would stumble into a conversation by some stroke of luck. “I know it sounds odd, but I felt drawn here. As if some supernatural force propelled me through the front door. I’m quite shit at gardening, so it can’t have been by any means of my free will.” 

This brought a light laugh from the woman’s lips, and Morgana revelled in it. “Well, if this supernatural force manipulates you into fancying buying anything, I can be of help.” 

“I could use it,” the almost-plea surged from Morgana’s lips of its own accord, and she struggled to save face. “That meddling supernatural force acting up, I reckon.” 

“Grand,” — the woman beamed, and Morgana stifled a swoon — “right this way. We just received a new shipment of purple and blue hyacinths that I think you might like.” She offered her hand to Morgana to help her over the cluster of pots circling Morgana’s ankles, which Morgana took and hopped as gracefully and heedfully as possible over them. “You look like a hyacinth type of person.” 

“I’m Morgana.” 

“Guinevere, but I’m called Gwen.” 

“Gwen,” the name rolled like a chocolate drop off of Morgana’s tongue. She realized she was still clasping Gwen’s slim, calloused hand and tore it away quickly. The sensation reminded her of ripping off a bandaid. “Hyacinths sound lovely.” 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘᠃

Morgana returned to the plant shoppe the next day. Perhaps it seemed a touch too eager, but Morgana honestly hadn’t a shred of knowledge on how to plant the hyacinths she purchased the previous day. When Gwen had shown her the hyacinths, Morgana had been mesmerized by the way her face lit up brilliantly when she began to talk about them and the shape of her lips when she smiled fondly over the blooms. Caught staring, she hurriedly grabbed a pot of purple buds, paid, and fled. Where was the allure and sensuality she normally oozed, enchanting every flimsy man she glided past? Perhaps the difference was that they were men, and this was Gwen. Gwen was profusely bright and delicate like the flowers she ruled over. 

“Morgana!” She was welcomed cheerfully by a sundress clad Gwen from behind the counter when she waded scrupulously through the leaves and thorns that blocked the easy travel through the shoppe’s entrance. “Back so soon?” 

“This time not due to the effects of a supernatural force, but a severe lack of understanding of what to do with hyacinths once I brought them home.” 

Gwen uttered a sunshiny giggle. She seemed very keen on laughing, which Morgana knew wouldn’t be kind to her heart in the long run — considering how it skipped a beat every time that delicious laugh reached her ears. “I apologize, I should have been clearer and more thorough when I first introduced them to you. It can be difficult to manage plants one is not familiar with.” 

“In my case it is difficult to manage any sort of plants at all. I kill any I cross. They just detest me,” Morgana grimaced. 

“I can’t see why,” Gwen hummed, flipping through a stack of what appeared to be some sort of brochures. “I feel I’d find it hellish to detest you even if I was forced to.” 

Morgana furiously fended off a blush at the distracted compliment. “If you knew me better I think I’d be able to convince you.” 

“Perhaps then we should put that to the test.” Morgana’s mind reeled at the thought of getting to know the goddess standing before her, separated from pure goodness by only a counter and a register. “Aha!” Gwen plucked a particular brochure from the stack she had been rifling through and held it out to Morgana, who took it confusedly. “It contains a bit more depth about hyacinths to help you along. Explains it better than I could.” 

“Thank you.” This felt like the end, like Morgana should smile and leave and wrestle the hyacinths into their bloody end. She didn’t want to leave, though. Not so soon. She fumbled around in her head for an excuse to remain in Gwen’s presence. “Perhaps if I watched you work for a bit — plant some things, you know — I could be better prepared for when I try it out at home.” 

It was with a breath of relief that she received Gwen’s starry eyes and willing acceptance. “I’d be delighted to show you.” 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘᠃

By three weeks of visiting the shoppe every other day, Morgana had tumbled down the depthless rabbit hole of petals and sunlight and saccharine sap and stubby thorns and loose leaves and rising stems and Gwen. Gwen was at the heart of it all, the reason Morgana had even jumped so readily down the rabbit hole in the first place. 

In the gloriously Gwen filled weeks since Morgana had first stepped foot into the plant shoppe, Morgana’s knowledge of plants and their management had lengthened significantly, and with it her ability to do the management. Gwen’s firm instructions, steady gaze, and work hardened hands guided Morgana not entirely smoothly towards a tentative growth in her relationship with plants. Morgana learned the amount of water and sunlight certain plants needed, the type of soil they should be placed in and the plants they should or could be placed next to, and a number of other things she consumed and committed to memory simply because they came from Gwen’s rosy lips and kind tone of voice. 

“You know, I’m quite proud of you, Morgana.” Morgana looked up to see Gwen sitting back on her heels, fiddling with her gloves and staring meaningfully at Morgana. Morgana ducked so Gwen wouldn’t see the pink that surfaced across the length of her pointed cheekbones. 

“What for?” Morgana scooped up an extra handful of mulch to pack around the stem of the newborn tree she was securing in the ground. 

“For how much you’ve learned. You’ve really come a long way.” Gwen was silent as she thought for a moment, then added, “It surprises me with what dedication you pour into this work.” 

“I’m nothing like you — with your commitment and enthusiasm.” 

“What made you decide to throw yourself into this with such resolve? Getting better at gardening cannot be a vital aspiration for a woman such as yourself.” 

You, Morgana wanted to shout. You are the reason I want to get up in the morning, much less spend a few hours a day kneeling in the dirt. Knowing she couldn’t say this, she focused on the other part of Gwen’s words that caught her attention. “A woman such as myself?” 

Gwen looked startled that Morgana should question her words instead of give an answer to the curious musings that drew dangerously close to the condensed lump of want that settled heavily in the pit of Morgana’s stomach, then a flash of panic appeared and disappeared from the delicate features arranged across Gwen’s face. A look of sheepishness replaced these puzzling expressions. “A woman…. a woman…. of respect. Smart…..a- and stylish. Worthy of coveting, desirable, you know.” 

“Desirable?” Morgana locked eyes with Gwen and rose her eyebrows. Gwen was naturally prone to an abundance of polite admiration, but sometimes the compliments she offered up to Morgana and the way with which she presented them edged closer to something that made Morgana dig her fingernails into her palms to keep from making a decision she knew she would come to regret with all her might. 

“When I first met you, you were put together and polished and so perfect it seemed a crime for you to be stranded among my ragged plants. It seemed mad to think that you would doom yourself to the habit of kneeling in the dirt and planting things for other people to mistreat.” 

Though she knew it was stupid, Morgana felt a sudden pang of hurt in her chest at this description of herself. Gwen had thought her pretentious and picky. Spoiled and elitist. A pretty girl sucking like a leech from the blood flow of daddy’s money. And she still thought Morgana above the situation she had willingly thrown herself into. “Oh.” 

Gwen didn’t seem to notice Morgana’s affected reaction. She brushed her hands together and scanned her eyes over the baby tree and circlet of not-yet-blooming roses to appreciate their work. “Well, I think we’ve finished here.” 

Morgana drew herself up sharply, ripping off her own gloves and stuffing them in the pocket of her jeans. “Right then, I best be off.” 

Gwen stood too, looking just short of pained. “Leaving so soon? I thought you might enjoy it if we had tea in the garden. I have a special blend of herbs and berries that create the most scrumptious brew.” 

In any normal circumstance, Morgana would have accepted all too wholeheartedly, but her heart still stung with Gwen’s dismissive, oblivious blows to her ego. Gwen considered her pompous and artificial. Perhaps Morgana had just tricked herself into believing that she and Gwen had bonded over the course of those three weeks, that their friendship was worthwhile, and that Gwen knew who she was. Or at least who she was attempting to be. “No, I really must go. Early start tomorrow, you know.” 

Gwen looked down, coloring. “Yes, yes, of course. Another time.” 

Morgana was too busy rushing out the door to agree to the prospect, and it hung limply in the air.


	2. Chapter 2

Morgana arrived at the shoppe according to her usual schedule, a strange feeling swirling in her stomach as she wondered what she was hoping to elicit from this visit. Would Gwen’s demeanor be cool and dismissive? She couldn’t imagine sweet, sun dappled Gwen behaving that way. Still, Morgana had been fairly brisk and discourteous as she had left. 

Her thoughts were interrupted with a hearty “hullo!” from a corner of the shop. A grinning, big eared man entered Morgana’s line of signt, leaves tangled in his dark curls and scattered across his person, arms open. A pair of shears hung in his left hand; he seemed to have been shakily sculpting the headless bird bush next to him. 

“Good afternoon,” Morgana greeted, attempting to restrict tinges of confusion and surprise from seeping into her tone at the overall lack of Gwen she was receiving from this still rather kiddishly earnest welcome. 

The man rumpled his hair with his free hand, a few leaves shaking loose and fluttering to the ground. He looked her up and down in a way that gave Morgana the distinct impression that he was not checking her out. It is an innocent glance, taking in her appearance. Also, he’s cuffed his jeans and is sporting rainbow high tops. “You must be Morgana. I’m Merlin.” 

“You know me?” 

Merlin grinned wider, if that was even possible. “‘Course. Pale, long hair, curves for days. Gwen painted a pretty accurate picture of you.” 

A pleasant blush bloomed across the apple’s of Morgana’s cheeks and heated her chest at the implication of Gwen describing her as having ‘curves for days.’ “Where is Gwen today?” 

“Her brother’s in town, so I’m taking her shift whilst they spend the day together.” 

“I see.” Morgana felt ashamed at the sadness that overcame her at the thought of not seeing Gwen, if even for a couple of days. 

Merlin broke the silence, snapping as if he remembered something suddenly. “I was supposed to give you this, though.” He disappeared in the back for a moment and returned with a package in his hands. 

It was smothered in pink papery wrapping that is tied securely by two pieces of twine. Attached was a cream envelope, upon which the word ‘Morgana’ had been scrawled. Merlin handed it to Morgana, who snatched it from him all too greedily. 

The envelope had been licked and sealed, so Morgana ripped it carelessly open to slip out the notecard inside. The handwriting was stubby and clipped but looped gracefully across the card all the same. ‘I am sad not to see you today,’ it reads. ‘But I beg I may be excused. My friend and I are having a Christmas party at our apartment Tuesday next, and I hope dearly that you might make an appearance. The shoppe is closed for the next couple of weeks, so I shall not see you otherwise. Remember to protect your orchids, they are still too delicate to be subjugated to snowfall. Best,   
Guinevere’ 

Morgana looked up at Merlin, who smacked his lips. “Hosting it at our shared flat. Y’can bring food and invite whoever you like.” 

“Right, thank you.” 

“Hope to see you there.” 

Morgana tried not to wonder why the note was signed ‘Guinevere’ instead of ‘Gwen’ as she exited the shoppe and slid the card back into the envelope, tucking it down the front of her sweater. When she emerged out on the sidewalk, flurries of snow find tender homes along her shoulders and the crown of her hair as she tentatively opened the pink wrapping of the package, cracking open the firm cardboard flaps of the box it covered. Inside the box was a succulent. 

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘᠃

Morgana brought Arthur to Gwen and Merlin’s Christmas party, who moaned about having plans that they both were perfectly aware that he didn’t have. 

Still, he told her to wear the little green velvet dress, because it brought out her eyes and didn’t clash with his sloppily hung tie like the purple one did, and dumped a loud package of tree-shaped grocery store sugar cookies into a container so that they didn’t arrive empty handed. 

Merlin grinned — unsurprisingly — when he opened the door, tinsel wrapped around his neck and a blossom of something dark and festive that Morgana wasn’t familiar with tucked behind his ear. “Welcome!” 

“Merry Christmas, Merlin. This is my brother Arthur.” 

Merlin’s eyes narrowed for a moment as if he was offended that Morgana had brought someone, then flickered to Arthur and darkened just slightly. “Oh, hullo.” 

Arthur’s lips moved open and closed like a fish out of water and he shifted his weight from foot to foot once, then shoved the container of their pitiful store bought cookies into Merlin’s arms. “Happy holidays.” Morgana refused to laugh at their exchange because she pitied the man; poor sad, bisexual Arthur. 

Clearing his throat and wetting his lips, Merlin shifted his expression back into his customary grin and ushered them further into the flat. “Not quite in full swing yet, but you get the idea.” There were plenty of guests already scattered about the cozy atmosphere, some laughing and some drinking and some lurking awkwardly. “Gwen should be somewhere around here.” 

This caused Arthur to forget about his cumbersome attraction to smirk at Morgana. “Well, we better find her, oughtn't we, Morgana?” 

Morgana kicked sideways at his ankle with her own and took the container from Merlin. “Here, we’ll set these down somewhere else.” 

“That’d be splendid, there’s a table in the kitchen where the food is arranged.” 

“No more comments like that, arsehole.” Morgana murmured icily to Arthur as they crossed over sandy shag carpeting into the kitchen. “I’ll have your head if you breathe another word about Gwen and — ”

“About Gwen and what? Your shit-massive crush on her? Undying love for her? Weird plant obsession that has catalysed your deep desire to fuck her senseless?” 

“You absolute prick, you’re one to talk considering you almost jumped Merlin after one look at him, so if you don’t shut the fuck up I swear I’ll — ” Morgana whirled and crashed headlong into a distinctly Gwen-looking blur, cold, thick liquid pouring right down the front of her dress. “Christ!” 

Gwen’s eyes turned to saucers and her mouth opened wider than Morgana had ever seen it before and so close and fuck her hair looked stunning and the liquid was freezing and slimy penetrating her skin and staining her dress. “OhfuckohgodMorganaI’msosorryshit.” 

Morgana laughed in spite of herself, and she had to admit it was a merry sound that reminded her of the glimmering Christmas lights strung up around them, blaring a tender green and red and green and red and setting Gwen’s worried brown eyes alight. “‘S alright. Didn’t like this dress much anyway.” 

A man sidled up next to Gwen and handed her a handful of napkins, that Gwen failed wholeheartedly at using to wipe at the liquid — what Morgana can now identify as eggnog. His voice dripped with charm and warmth that Morgana knows would rival the flavor of the egg nog if she could’ve tasted it. “I’m Elyan, Gwen’s brother.” 

“Merry Christmas,” Morgana greeted, strangely cheerful as Gwen was still bent and furiously attempting to sop up the mess along the front of Morgana’s torso. 

When Gwen had drawn herself back up to her normal height and was a significant distance from Morgana’s cleavage, Morgana found it safe to speak. “Gwen, Elyan, this is Arthur.” 

Gwen ripped her gaze from Morgana to stare at Arthur, tensed, then offered her hand to shake his. “Nice to meet you.” 

“Charmed.” Arthur winked. “Heard a lot about you.” 

It took all of Morgana’s strength not to elbow him sharply in the side as if they were quarreling children again. 

“I’m terribly sorry about your dress, Morgana,” Gwen wrung her hands together and frowned deeply. “I’m a bloody klutz is what I am.” 

“It’s not a problem, I swear it. I like egg nog.” 

Elyan chuckles at that, low and rumbling, and Arthur begins, “And I’m sure she wouldn’t mind you stumbling into her some other — ”

“Arthur, here,” Morgana snarled through gritted teeth, “is a deep disappointment to our father due to his being single over the holidays. Perhaps we could find someone here to keep him company? His type is tall, nice lips, jaw that could cut glass, skinny — ” 

“I’m gonna get myself some egg nog!” Arthur blurted, splotches of red appearing across his face. “Be back!” 

Morgana scoffed as he hurried away, no doubt unsuspectingly into another encounter with Merlin that would render him virtually speechless and amusingly useless. Elyan shot Morgana a knowing smile. “I think I’ll have another one of Gwen’s famous brownies.” 

“Famous?” Morgana turned to Gwen as he left, a teasing twinkle in her eye and mischievous tilt to the corner of her mouth. “I might have to test that.” 

“The secret ingredient is love,” Gwen shrugged, looking down at her shoes. Mary Janes, Morgana noted. Only Gwen could pull off footwear that appeared to be manufactured specifically for a Keebler elf. She huffed, crumpling the moisture-laden napkins she had been using to mop at Morgana’s torso. “They’re not working. Will you pop into the bathroom with me for a moment so I can wipe at it with a damp towel?” 

Flustered by the strike of rather dirty implications -- though any innuendo was most likely completely unintentional by Gwen -- in the phrasing of ‘pop into the bathroom with me’, Morgana allowed herself to be led to the bathroom. It was cramped, with brown walls, ancient looking toilet and dirty mirror with a gilded frame. Gwen busied herself with opening a cabinet in the corner and plucking a towel from a stack inside, holding it beneath the harsh bubble of water from the rusting faucet and ringing it out carefully. Then, taking Morgana by the shoulders, Gwen leaned her against the dark counter that surrounded the sink, waist pressed into the round edge and elbows balancing against the cool marble. Morgana blushed as Gwen bent before her, taking the fabric of her green dress in one hand and rubbing at it with the towel. 

Searching for a subject to distract Morgana from her wretched wandering mind. Unfortunately, Arthur was the first thing that came to mind. “So, what’d you think of the dickhead?” 

Gwen’s forehead crinkled. Morgana adored it when it did that. “Who?” 

“Arthur.” 

“Oh.” Gwen looked unformforable, the forehead crinkle smoothing out into an expression Morgana couldn’t quite read. She continued to dab at the dress. Presumably she was making some sort of progress in cleansing it of the stickily drying egg nog. “He’s lovely. You two are… you two are great together.” 

“I wouldn’t say that, he’s a right prick and he — sorry, what?” 

“What?” 

“Did you say we were great…. together?” 

“Yes?” 

Morgana burst out into laughter, “Gwen, he’s my brother.” 

Gwen looked ruffled at Morgana seemingly laughing at her, but simultaneously pleased with the news. “But — you don’t look alike at all.” 

“Different mothers.” 

“I see.” 

Morgana giggled again, thinking about the prospect. “Even if Arthur wasn’t related to me, I wouldn’t touch him with a thirty foot pole.” 

“Not your type?”

“Men aren’t,” Morgana snorted. 

Gwen blinked up at her, gaze straying from the dress to Morgana’s own stare, and Morgana was struck with the similarity of the woman to a doe; so velvet skinned and innocent eyed. “Come again?” 

“I’m a lesbian, Gwen. Wasn’t it obvious?” 

Gwen shook her head abashedly. “Hard to tell, sometimes.” 

“Shouldn’t’ve been, seeing as I’ve been mooning over you since the very first moment we met.” 

Morgana was deadly sure Gwen choked on her own saliva just then, sputtering and fumbling for words. “Are you alright, Gwen?” 

“Yes, yes, fine,” Voice more like a squeak, Gwen straightened and fell into her natural standing position. She glanced down at the sticky spread of egg nog drying across Morgana’s chest, dipping below the piped fringe of her neckline. Morgana had felt it trickle down her stomach and all the way down to her knee. “May I?” 

The thought of Gwen’s soft, untiring hands near her cleavage was not something Morgana trusted herself to bear. “Well -- um, Gwen I -- ”

Gwen rescued Morgana from a lifetime more of sputtering when she surged forward to peck Morgana’s lips with her own. The kiss was so chaste Morgana blinked four times once Gwen had pulled away before she realized she wasn’t dreaming. An expression of bliss settled across Gwen’s face before it was promptly shattered. “Fuck, Morgana! I’m so sorry, please forget that ever happened -- ”

An awestruck laugh barely had the chance to escape Morgana’s lips before she was leaning in to chase Gwen’s kiss with one of her own, deeper and more meaningful. Gwen tasted suspiciously like eggnog, and her waist had begun to throb as Gwen was now actively pushing her against the sink, but Morgana was too elated to care. In fact, she rather enjoyed it. When they broke apart, Morgana stared intently at Gwen’s face. She wanted to remember this moment. She wanted to savor the sight of the scapegoat ringlets that spilled over Gwen’s forehead and the way her eyelashes were so long they got visibly tangled, or the adorable way Gwen puckered her lips as if she was trying not to lick them. 

“We should probably get back out to the party,” Gwen said. 

“Yeah.” 

Then Gwen kissed Morgana again, lifting her hand and allowing it to graze the warmth of Morgana’s cheek. Kissing Gwen was like retelling a well worn anecdote, easy and familiar and worthy of eliciting a pleasant fire in the bottom of one’s stomach. 

Morgana grinned, not caring that it was the smile that uncovered too much of her teeth, but rather that Gwen was still looking at her mouth so it must’ve been pretty. 

“I reckon by now Merlin and Arthur have knocked over the entire egg nog bowl,” Gwen giggled. 

“I think that’s alright, seeing as I’ve got plenty of it directly stored on my person.” 

“Oh, sod off.”


End file.
